


Five Times Dean Rewrote Destiel History and One Time He Didn't

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, I'm Going to Hell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times in which Dean and Cas could have been forever. And one time they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Dean Rewrote Destiel History and One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Jeremy Carver when I say this is an AU… ish. These are all the ways in which Dean could have changed the course of Destiel. They’re all real events, just slightly tweaked to fit my canon complaints. 
> 
> I do not claim to own any of the plot-lines, just the headcanons.
> 
> Episodes referenced: 7x17, 7x23, 8x02, 8x17, 9x06, 10x18

**I.**

The first time was outside the psychiatric ward.

Dean just found out Castiel was alive. His best friend, whose wonted trenchcoat he held after he watched him walk into a lake and never come out.

He’d never admit aloud to have been happier to find him skinned alive than in the arms of another. _He_ was supposed to be the one who found him on the other side of the world. Dean wasn’t the commiserating type, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t take him into an arms’ embrace right then and there and coddle him like a child. Bet Daphne didn’t do _that_.

You know, even if he was naked. Talk about an awkward family reunion.

“You can tell me, I’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” Dean pressed, earning a disconcerted squint from Cas that he didn’t realize he’d missed. “You just met yourself; I’ve known you for years.”

Meg just informed him he was an angel—still is an angel, minus the starter’s kit. That he could smite every demon keeping his brother captive. He turned his back to them, facing the unforeseeable distance. “But I don’t know how.”

Dean approached him from behind, casting an aslant glance at his best friend. “It’s in there.” He paused before going on to say, “I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike.”

Cas turned to him with an unreadable expression. “I don’t know how to do that either.”

The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes before turning to face him again. They held a silent conversation for what felt like an eternity, though never quite met each other’s gazes in doing so. Dean knew this song better than anything he’s blared down the highway. All that was left was the dance. 

There was no telling when his lips met Castiel’s because Dean pulled away before the kiss could deepen, remembering they not only had company, but a mission to complete. There was no way in hell Sam was dying over something Dean should have done years ago.

When Dean opened his eyes, he saw something in Cas’s that wasn’t before: determination. And above all else, _love._ “I remember you,” he said. “I remember everything.”

**II.**

The second time was minutes before the end of the world.

“If we attack Dick and fail then you and Sam die heroically, correct?”

Dean blinked disbelievingly.  “I don’t know, I guess.”

“At best I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake,” he continued without relent, “or I don’t die, brought back again, I see now it’s a punishment resurrection; it’s worse every time.”

None of that shed light on anything. It didn’t sound like surrender—he’d managed to drag a doped-up honey-collecting cherub this far into the mud—and yet there was something off about the way he was presenting his case. “Sorry, we—uh, talking about God crap, right?”

“I’m not good luck Dean,” he stated, staring straight at him, and there it was. Cas wasn’t lacking faith in the mission, he was lacking faith in himself. _Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters_ was the mantra that played through his head since that night in the cabin. Castiel would bleed out if it meant keeping him and his brother out of harm’s way.

Especially if _he_ was harm’s way.

Dean stepped a little closer before curtailing the space between them with a firm kiss. His hand found his nape and carded through Cas’s surprisingly soft hair. In his own leap of faith, Dean ran his tongue along the seam of his bottom lip, leaving a wet trail of sweet nothings in his wake. Cas nabbed his tongue, sucking gently on the two-faced flesh, and Dean thought maybe hanging around bees for a couple months didn’t do him all bad.

When he pulled back, his lips were as red as the state of his friend’s face. “Sorry,” he said, absently dragging his thumb over his lower lip, “but I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”

And that’s how he convinced his best friend to spend an eternity with him in Purgatory.

**III.**

The third time was in said eternity after finding Cas.

He spent hours, days—maybe even years, who knew in this God forsaken place—going off the beaten path for him. (“We’re not leaving here without him.” “I know you got that whole friend complex, chief, but Confucius say the angel—” “Cas,” Dean said, “His name is Cas.”)Benny, for all intents and purposes, had become his brother. From a hunter’s standpoint, it was better to have more allies than enemies in a place like this.

But Benny didn’t understand sometimes. They butted heads like alphas tend to do, and what made things harder was that they had so much in common. They both had one track minds, but for two entirely different things. Benny wanted a way out. Dean wanted Cas.

So it was no surprise when Dean swept him into his arms for far more than a friendly hug. The kiss he planted on him was just was fervent and driven as the last, except this time Cas stayed completely still through the entire exchange.  He pushed back the thought that he’d be kissing a corpse if he had found him any later.

Cas was alive, regardless if he was responding or not. He’d pinch himself if he could. He’s seen this moment play out in his wildest dreams, but those usually ended in cold sweats.

“Nice peace fuzz,” he chuckled, knocking the extra growth with his knuckle.

Cas, flustered as ever, responded, “Thank you.”

“I want you to meet somebody,” Dean said, gesturing to Benny with the tip of his blade. “This is Benny, Benny this is Cas.” The angel seemed unfazed by the vampire’s presence.

“How did you find me?”

Dean chose to ignore that. “Well, anyway, you feelin’ okay?”

“You mean am I still…?” Cas’s finger went in spirals around his head before he lifted his brow in question, eliciting a swallow laugh out of the hunter.

“Yeah, if you wanna be on the nose about it, sure.”

“No, I’m perfectly sane,” he rejoined quickly, “but then ninety-four percent of psychotics think they’re perfectly sane so I guess we have to ask ourselves what _is_ sane.”

Benny’s interrogation followed shortly after, “Why did you bail on Dean?”

That comment started a chain of events that would forever alter the face of bad jokes:

_A vampire, an angel, and a hunter walked into a bar alone… and they came out together._

**IV.**

The fourth time was in a crypt.                                                                                       

He was on his knees, begging for mercy. He’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t see this scene panning out differently in his fantasies.

More than that, he imagined, once they hit topside, living out a semi-normal life with Cas. He’d still be hunting alongside his brother, except there would be more than a PBR waiting for him when he got home. Even with Sam, the bunker felt empty.

He always pictured it the same: running into his arms after a run-in with a vamps nest that turned out to be an overnight job. Cas would welcome him home, _their_ home, and Sam would tell them to get a room, hiding his smile in the collar of his flannel.

For the first time in his life, Dean would be happy.

But that was just a pipedream now. Cas was fading away. The light in his cerulean eyes went out like a loose fixture as his angel blade collided with Dean’s face.

To say he’s been through worse would be an understatement. What caused him the most pain was the fact that Cas was still in there. He knew it.

“Cas, this isn’t you,” he squawked, hating how weak he sounded.

The blade came down harder. Once, twice, Dean fighting each time to keep his composure. Cas held the vane over his head forebodingly. “Cas… I know you’re in there, I know you can hear me... it’s me,” he sobbed, “We’re family. We love you…. I love you.”

The blade fell to the ground with a resounding _clank._ Dean was suddenly overcome by pain. He moaned and writhed on the floor when Cas released his grip on his hand. Though he couldn’t see, Cas turned toward the tablet before his eyes came to rest on Dean again. Dean made the effort to look at him, bracing himself as Castiel’s hand lunged out for his face—

And healed him. Cas stilled his hand there like _Dean_ was the tablet. Then he kissed him.

Dean never saw the angel tablet again.

**V.**

The fifth time was in the Impala in front of Nora’s house.

“Cas, wait…I can’t let you do this.”

Dean heaved a long overdue sigh, casting a wretched glance in his best friend’s direction. Cas looked almost expectant (almost being the operative word because there was no way he still felt the same after the literal hell they’ve been through), trading every doubt he’d ever had about Dean for a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. “What?”

“You’re gonna wear that,” he accused, eyeing his get-up, “on a date?”

He could see Castiel’s brain cranking into overdrive as he croaked “This is all I have, Dean.” And with those eyes, how could his not do the same?

“Okay, uh, lose the vest,” he instructed, trying to elude the lost puppy look on his face. Who knew prepping an angel for a first date would be part of his job description.

“What’re you—?”

“Lose the vest, c’mon,” he urged, and Cas, the obedient little soldier he was, rid himself of the royal blue party favorite. “That’s a little better,” he said, pitching another sigh.

He drank in the sight of him when it occurred to Dean that he’s probably never told Cas how attractive he is. If it wasn’t his pride that got in the way it was Edward Cullen or a pre-biblical Hungry Hungry Hippo. “Alright, and do the buttons—why don’t you unbutton it?”

Dean’s lips curved into a shy smile as he watched Cas quickly undo his shirt. He loved the influence he had on him. If he didn’t stop him soon, Cas would shed his layers like a snake.

But then again, who said he had to stop?

Sure enough, there was nothing left to his imagination as the expanse of his torso was spread out for him like a deck of cards. Here Dean thought _he_ was a bad influence on Cas. Meanwhile, Dean was scheming of the thousands of different detours his tongue could take from his flushed neck to his jutting hipbones. Cas watched Dean watching him predatorily, which didn’t help the tightness in his pants.

Then his breast flexed and Dean was pretty sure he was in the _Twilight Zone_ he was so lost _._

“Dean?” he heard over the pounding of his own heart. He surged forward, crashing his lips onto Castiel’s roughly.

That one turned out to be more than a kiss.

**VI.**

The sixth time was in Dean’s bedroom.

(But it’s not what it sounds like.)

Charlie stopped by after the whole monstruo-e-monstruo gig with the _Book of the Damned_. Dean came in through the main entrance, witness to the awkward family reunion taking place in the war room. Charlie had been through quite the ordeal—between working under the CEO of Big Mouths and reliving her greatest hitsthrough the eyes of a Susan Sarandon copycat djinn—so Dean was glad Cas could bring a smile to her face.

The angel tended to have that effect on people, mainly the eldest Winchester, who had downright cackled through a mouthful of food when Cas read his fortune: _Download Error. Your fortune is temporarily unavailable._ (“Charlie, I don’t—” “Don’t worry, Cas. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the wonderful world of Google.”) And that’s how the four of them spent the rest of their evening: eating and drinking and laughing their way into the dead of night.

Sam turned in at nine, Charlie following an hour later, leaving the library to Dean and Cas. Dean took a jab at starting conversation, but didn’t last long when he was running off the beaten path of consciousness. Cas suggested that he leave. Dean persuaded him to stay. It was the least he could do for him after last year when he—

No, he wasn’t going down that road. Dean carted guilt around like it was a hundred-pound knapsack. The last thing he needed was added weight.

The hunter showed him to a spare room, unsurprisingly the one closest to his. Though the place was outstandingly bare and could probably use a paint job, Cas accepted the gesture with a small smile. Dean tried not to think about the fact that it was more than he had working at the _Gas n’ Sip_. And that he needed it less now than he did when he was human. And that he was the biggest idiot on the planet for having letting him go.

He was sitting precariously on his bed when someone comes through his door. None other than Cas stood the doorway, staring at him with the look that Dean’s received a thousand times from everyone who’s ever loved him. But with Castiel, it was different. The angel didn’t look at him like he needed saving from the world, but in that the world needed saving from _him_ , the son, the father, the brother, the friend—the Righteous Man.

Cas held Dean high above himself and Heaven and everything in-between. Always has.

So when his memory foam dips underneath him, he does nothing to stop it. He’s tired of fighting the inevitable, and most of all, he’s tired of waiting for the end of the world.

He scoots back until he’s braced against the bedframe. Cas is quick to follow, arranging himself in a position that’s so natural it should be criminal. Dean has no need for blankets just like he has no need to say those three little words burning holes in his mouth. Instead, he rubs small circles into Castiel’s back and holds onto him like tomorrow will never come, because in this life, it isn’t highly unlikely.

And that’s the story of how Dean spent eternity with his best friend, an angel Castiel.

 


End file.
